He tries to get some sleep
but his memories are carved in too deep
For the people he left behind
they're still wandering in his mind
Creating a vision of pain and suffering
Holding on to his belongings
Dreaming of silence in the midst of a war
watching the Apocalypse from afar
He is standing there on his own
'cause a wanderer's life is to be alone
execllent concept however it is as if you a compressing a interesting idea into ill formulated ryhmes perhaps if it was written in prose style your message will be projected much more efficiently
This is a good poem! Have you copyrighted or published it? You should.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I quite like it the way it is. Except the spelling of too.